


Urination Experiments, Part 2

by kitteforde



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Bladder Control, Desperation, F/M, Kink, Omorashi, Other, Piss, one-sided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:02:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27993453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitteforde/pseuds/kitteforde
Summary: Dale tries another piss-related experiment.
Relationships: Dale Cooper > Diane Evans (implied/one-sided)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Urination Experiments, Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> Omorashi (pee desperation) kink abounds, if that's not your thing, avert your gaze! The title refers to a part in 'My Life, My Files', not a separate fic.

July 15th, 6:30 PM

"Diane, It's been some time since I've settled in for a purely scientific pursuit. But... I'm going to assure myself that's all this is. "

In a dim bedroom, a lamp on the side table cast a warm light over flesh. Dale Cooper, the slim built man clad in tight-fitting boxers, and nothing else, sat back on his bed. Several bottles clunked and sloshed at his side. Beside the lamp lived a framed photograph of the woman he so frequently referred to, Diane. As lovely as she was acerbic.

"Beside me are three one-liter bottles. One filled with water, one with black coffee, and one with a sports drink. Why the variety? I couldn't bring myself to drink three liters of water in one sitting. And hyponatremia would be an anticlimactic end to this experiment."

A stopwatch rest in his free hand, the chain rattling between idle fingers. 

"This harkens back to my previous urination experiments, which, I can't seem to shake from my mind as of late. There's no need to review them. In fact, I'd prefer if you didn't--"

He cleared his throat as heat rose to his cheeks. The blanket crinkled under his shift in weight. Embarrassment. A rarity, but keen when it came. Thankfully Diane couldn't SEE the color that dusted his features.

"In summary, the last experiments were a measure of functional capacity versus time without urinating. This one, rather, will focus on volume..."

A breath. This was. Uncomfortable.

"Specifically, the exact volume of my bladder at its maximum capacity. 3 liters of liquid will be consumed over a span of three hours. The final output will be measured."

A cringe squeezed his features; it sounded so perverse when he said it out loud. Maybe Diane didn't need to know this about this particular experiment of his. Normally he'd take comfort knowing that she might hear his recordings. But this. Heart fluttering in his chest as he turned the photograph onto it's face, this wasn't the same feeling. And the sensation in his loins, the pooling heat, the electric energy.

Diane was better off in the dark about this one. Oh well.

"I'll get back to you when the first part is finished. Beginning... now."

The stopwatch clicked as he depressed the button, ticking away as he started on the water. Stomach empty and thirst prickling the back of his throat, the first 8 ounces were a breeze. A pause to catch his breath, then gulp down the remainder of the first bottle, plastic crinkling loudly as he pursed his lips to suck out the last drops.

"6:13 PM, that went much faster than expected. I think I might begin the coffee sooner rather than later."

A few sips of the hot black, mingling with the cold water sloshing in his stomach. Always a delightful contrast going down. Several swallows in and the fullness of his belly slowed him; he physically couldn't shotgun the second liter like the first. Pushing through with another sip, a swell of nausea rose up.

"Diane, scratch that. Too much of a good thing is decidedly unwise."

Clock still ticking, he reclined back against his headboard, taking leisurely sips as his stomach allowed. Given time to spare, he skimmed through a thick book while the liquids trickled through. Sip. Sip. Sip. 

"It's 7 PM. Not feeling much as of yet. Proceeding with the remainder of the coffee. Undoubtedly the most enjoyable part of this experiment."

"7:47, the first inkling of pressure, but it's increasing steadily. Hour three may prove more difficult."

"8 o'clock. I never was a fan of sports drinks, but the electrolytes are necessary. Bottoms up."

A fourth of the way through gave him pause, stretched stomach uncomfortably bloated with liquid. A soft groan caught in his throat as he lied back to wait it out. A full fifteen minutes later, with less pressure in his abdomen, he sat up, only to jolt his legs together. An urgent swell struck him, his bladder crying out before the sensation subsided. Wincing at the last bottle, he forced a few more sips.

"Ugh. 8:22. I'll never drink another sip of liquid as long as I live after this. I'll subsist on moisture I collect from the air. The notion of a toilet is growing more and more compelling. If I were anywhere but my own home, I'd be making a dash for one. ..."

Though the urgency subsided, the pressure hadn't. A constant nagging sensation in his lower belly, with the occasional shockwave at the base of his penis. Yet as discomfort grew, so did the twinge of arousal. Not fully erect, but certainly sprightly downstairs. A slight bulge.

"...How interesting. It must be the pressure along my pudendal nerve, some sort of nervous cross talk, but I--"

Falling to sudden silence, he took another sip. And went on.

"I'm riding an exquisite line between pleasure and pain that--"

Speaking directly what came to mind into a recorder wasn't ALWAYS in his best interest. ...He might keep these tapes to himself after all. 

His hand strayed down between his thighs to give himself a squeeze, the grip blooming charged pleasure along his sensitized piece. 

"Oh-h..."

Voice catching his throat, he coughed to disguise it. It felt -good-. -Damn good-. Much better than anticipated. Another little grope and his cock twitched, rapidly firming up in response. Of course, he'd taken matters into his own hands on numerous occasions, but never with a bladder so full he might burst. The notion that it might feel phenomenal hadn't even occurred. Closing his grip, he squeezed and settled to slow stroking.

"A peculiar discovery, pleasure is sufficiently distracting from the pain. I'll-- carry on."

The last swigs of his final bottle, and he sighed, spread his thighs, and reclined back.

"Finished with the last of the sports drink."

The husk in his voice surprised even him. Was he really so affected by this experiment? 

A drop of moisture stained the crotch of his boxers, and his heart, in turn, leaping into his throat. He hadn't even felt a leak, it was impossible! A quick check revealed a glistening strand of precum clinging to the head of his cock. 

"Well then."

There was no denying it; this feeling turned him on. 

His bladder took the momentary lapse in attention to screech from the depths of his abdomen, Coop groaning and hunching over to grab himself. Clenching and rocking, it took a moment before it died down again, but never fully relinquished. The odd wave of desperation burgeoned to unremitting urgency, bladder straining to accommodate the deluge of urine streaming in from his kidneys.

"Hff, dammit...."

Gritting and squeezing his thighs, he rode out the cresting urge, but not without grabbing himself and dancing around like a toddler. Even with Diane's picture turned away, the heat of her judgment burned all over his face. Frenzied rustling and hurried breath were all the recorder picked up. That and his feet thumping the hardwood as he rose.

"Lying down is no longer an option."

Try as he might, pleasurable stroking wasn't his silver bullet, and wincing while shifting from foot to foot took over. Heart racing, breath hurried, sweat beading along his forehead and upper lip. It wasn't just painful; it was painful, exhilarating, and terribly, terribly titillating. Words fell breathless and strained into the recorder.

"There's a-- a unique thrill, to struggling against a biological urge, Diane. You know you're fighting a losing battle but you ---ssssshit!"

A single, hot jet of piss spurt out and dampened the front of his boxers.

A lapse in his focus, and nothing more. He could hold longer, he was certain. A deep breath drew halfway before clipping off with a hitch; there simply wasn't room for lungs to expand with his bladder so overfull. Closing his eyes, he stilled, hand at his crotch. Clear his mind, his consciousness in body alone. Stillness, a reprieve. 

If only for a moment.

A roaring wave of urgency rose up, up, up, and crashed down onto him, bladder contracting, squeezing, forcing, hotness bursting past urethral sphincters, gushing as it spurted from the tip.

"Thi-s. Alright, I need to... to--"

The recorder clunked to the floor as he fumbled around his bedsheets to find the -- where was the flask? It had to be here! Panicked flailing flung pillows every which way as it dawned on him that he'd left it in the kitchen. 

"Damnit!"

Cursing picked up at a distance as he darted down the hall, hurried footstep thudding on the floor as he held himself, cradling his crotch in futile effort to stem the flow. But the patch expanded. Slowly. Expanding heat under his hands, his resolve tainted by the siren song of relief. It felt so, so good, if only he could hold off a few more seconds--

Grabbing the flask off the counter, he rushed to the bedroom, dripping all the way. A slow stream flickering at intervals with every step.

Throaty but indistinct muttering was all the recorder could pick up, but then, the rush, absolute crash of urine flooding the plastic flask. A veritable downpour of piss pattering, hissing, echoing. And the -moan-. 

A man lost in the anodyne bliss of unadulterated relief.

Eyes closed, head lulled back, hips rolled forth. As his bladder drained of urine, it left in its place, warmth, tingling, shivering. An opiate nexus radiating from his lower half.

A full 2 and a half minutes passed with naught but Cooper's moaning and the streaming rush of piss. After what felt like eons, it slowed, and trickled to a stop. The jug gave a weighty thunk as he dropped it onto the side table, then flopped onto the bed with a creak.

"Diane. I may have seen Nirvana."

A tired but heated voice. He glanced to the flask as he fumbled for the stopwatch. Click.

"Time, 11: 17 PM. Final output, 1.64 liters."

Down below, he throbbed, an erection standing proud from his loins.

"...I have some, contemplation to do."


End file.
